Being a kid is all about mindless self-indulgence and tiny, meaningless acts of rebellion. And that's totally fine: Your wee child-brain hasn't even finished solidifying -- of course you're going to whine about having to clean up your room (and then rebelliously blast One Direction a little bit too loud when you're done). You're a 12-year-old outlaw. You cannot be contained. Besides, what are they gonna do about it? Arrest you?
Friggin' absolutely yes, they will.
The day began normally enough for Alexa: She was bored in class and decided to exert a little of her inner artist. She knew it wasn't permitted to draw on her desk, but it was either that or pay attention to math. Besides, to a child artist, all desks are just a canvas waiting for a heart with some initials (or at the very least a "Slayer" spelled with an anarchy sign). Alexa unsheathed her green magic marker and wrote "I love my friends Abby and Faith" and "Lex was here. 2/1/10." She ended this flagrant act of vandalism with a smiley face.
There's an "A" in "Abby." At least make an attempt to do this right.
That is by far the friendliest graffiti that has ever been laid down. That's what Mr. Rogers would encourage you to write if he found you in an alley holding a spray can. What's the worst that could come of simply noting that you exist, that you're happy, and that you love your friends -- all in erasable marker, no less?
She was dragged out of class and straight to the police station, where she was put into an enclosed room and reportedly terror-puked during her interrogation. Alexa was then suspended from school and sentenced to eight hours of community service, where she presumably cleaned slightly less-friendly proclamations of love off of the side of a bowling alley.
Nothing discourages graffiti like eight hours of looking at kickass, colorful street art.
Christmas was invented solely to torture children. What two things do kids love the most?
Surprises and gifts.
What two virtues do they absolutely lack, above all else?
Patience and restraint.
And yet, every single year, we promise them surprise presents if they can only control themselves while gaily wrapped bundles silently mock them from beneath a giant, glowing, flashing tree.
Move along, folks; nothing to see here.
And so we peek. Obviously. Oh, it starts innocently enough: We rattle the box, measure the heft, and scrounge for receipts in the garbage, but eventually, when that fails to yield results, we unfold a little flap and try to make out some telltale text. Then, because it's already unfolded some, what's a little more? Before you know it, you've got the new Nintendo plugged into the TV at 4 in the morning and you're frantically trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for what you've done -- maybe terrorists broke into your bedroom and challenged you to a game of Smash Bros. in exchange for your parents' very lives? Yeah, yeah -- that might work!
"Dammit, Timmy! You know we don't negotiate with the enemy!"
Probably not, though: We know we're going to get yelled at, but it's all worth it. And besides, even if your parents look mad now, surely they understand the impulsive nature of a child, right?
Nope: Young Master Ervin [first name withheld], from South Carolina, was arrested for opening his Christmas present early. His great-grandmother bought him the aforementioned Nintendo of Fate, but because he didn't wait for it to be formally gifted to him -- opting to sneak it out of his relative's room early, unwrap it, and callously enjoy it with little to no regard for tradition -- the boy's own mother, Brandi Ervin, ended up pressing larceny charges against him.
Careful, Junior; take more than three and it's a category B misdemeanor.
Hopefully the strip-mall strip club where all "Brandi-with-an-I"s invariably work let her have the afternoon off to fill out the necessary paperwork.
Back when we were kids, and dinosaurs roamed the Earth in the form of Megazords and Dinobots, you could get in a lot of trouble for passing notes. You could be forced to stay after class, have to erase the entire chalkboard for the teacher, or, if you were being instructed by the devil herself (Mrs. Davis), you might even have to stand up and read the note out loud to the whole class.
"On Line 3, you'll note the handwriting changes and a third box labeled 'maybe' has been added."
Kids these days have it way easier: They just text notes to each other, surreptitiously poking away at a tiny keyboard underneath their desk.
Of course, they also have it way harder, because apparently they get friggin' arrested for it. A teenage girl was caught repeatedly texting in class, because teenage girls must maintain a constant intake of Vitamin Gossip, lest they wither and die. She was warned to stop texting, or else. Of course, she probably assumed "or else" was something like getting her phone taken away for the day -- not being escorted out by the school's security officer.
"We caught her with some kind of weapon."
That seems like overkill, doesn't it? Why involve security? What implied that she was a security risk? Unless the teacher thought she was texting al-Qaida about Jenny's slutty new haircut, calling in the guards was probably a bit much.
Also a bit much: the subsequent arrest and criminal citation for disorderly conduct, which involved bail of $298 and a court appearance. So take that as a warning, kids: How much is it really worth to tell Kimmy that Brad told Matt he thinks Kimmy looks like that girl from The Vampire Diaries? Is it worth $298?
Probably! Screw it; it's dad's money anyway.
Sarah Bustamantes "smells bad." That's what the kids would have you believe. In reality, she probably smells just fine, and what the kids are really trying to say is "My crippling social anxiety is manifesting as external attacks on others in an attempt to divert negative attention from my own shortcomings." But "smells bad" is a much catchier chant.
During one such refrain, Sarah decided on the most incorrect course of action one can choose in literally any situation: She listened to the negative feedback. They said she stunk, so she applied some perfume.
An interesting choice, but we would've gone with the ol' Rubber/Glue Reversal.
Now, that's already a pretty crummy day -- being publicly mocked so badly that you have to take corrective actions -- but Sarah's afternoon was about to get a whole lot worse. See, instead of congratulating her on her excellent smell-correction skills and asking her to be queen of the sock hop, the assholes that were calling her names -- shockingly -- kept right on calling her names. They now said her perfume stank.
Finally, Sarah's teacher had enough and called the police.
"Also send in a containment team, in case of cooties."
Fulmore Middle School had Sarah arrested under charges of disrupting the classroom and slapped her with a criminal misdemeanor. That's right: She had to go to court for the crimes of "being mocked" and "wearing perfume." Jesus, is this an entire town populated solely by 1980s movie bullies?
Hopefully the judge let her off with two atomic wedgies and some community service.
Texas mother Tammy Cooper is a pretty traditional parent: She believes that a good scooter ride outdoors is worth 10 PokeWars inside. So she did what more parents should and booted her lazy kids out to try to figure out how human beings entertain themselves this side of an iPad. To make sure they weren't squirreling away a smartphone somewhere and Angry Birding instead of playing red rover, Tammy parked herself on the lawn to watch them.
An hour later, she was under arrest for child abandonment.
"... and don't think we didn't notice you neglecting that dog, too."
Tammy's neighbors, baffled by this monstrous she-beast who could so heartlessly let her own children bake under that merciless and cruel sky-orb, called the police on a mother for letting her kids play outside. Remember: She was watching them on the lawn the whole time. That's roughly 100 percent more attention than we got when we were booted out of the house so mom and dad could have some bone-time. The only adult who supervised us outside was that weird hobo who was always trying to lure us into the bushes (nice try, Raggedy Jack, but where would a Nintendo even plug in back there?).
Police rushed to the scene to rescue those poor children from having to learn the rules of freeze tag, and Tammy Cooper was put in jail. Luckily, she only donned the orange jumpsuit for a measly 18 hours. Nearly a full day, we should note, where she actually was forced to abandon her children.
Careful -- "promotion of whimsy" can get you shanked in the yard.
We should also mention at this point -- just in case you're having visions of a sinister old lady laughing as she forces children to race scooters back and forth across a busy expressway -- Tammy and her children lived in a cul-de-sac: the safety scissors of the road world.
Related Reading: If you think parents narcing on their kids are bad, check out these wildly irresponsible homemade costumes. Speaking of irresponsible, did you know the inventor of vaccines deliberately gave smallpox to his son? At least that guy risked his kid to benefit mankind, these parents sold their child's NAME for filthy cash.
Instagram influencers are often absurd.
Well, this is terrifying.